Still Here by Lara Vapnyar

unkempt, possibly homeless guy fiddling with the jukebox in the corner, and a girl in a bulky checkered coat sitting across the aisle from Vadik. The girl had a runny nose. She kept wiping it with a napkin and making sniffling sounds like a rabbit. Her nose was swollen and red, and he could hardly see her eyes behind her dark bangs, but he liked that her hair was done in two short braids. She had a clear mug filled with a cloudy brown liquid in front of her. Vadik wondered what it was. She raised her eyes for a second and he saw that they were small and amber-brown and very pretty. Vadik wanted to smile at her, but she lowered her gaze before he had a chance. She was reading a book. Vadik decided it was time to get out his. He opened it in the middle, took a long sip of his tea, and plunged into reading.
    He couldn’t understand a single word. Or rather all he understood was single words. He tried to concentrate, but he found it impossible because his mind was still busy thinking about that runny-nosed girl. Vadik took a bite out of his cheesecake and found it disgustingly sweet. He leafed through the rest of the book and discovered that about fifty pages were missing. When he finally raised his eyes, he saw that the girl was looking at him. He smiled and asked if he could join her. Normally, he would be too shy to do that, but just then he felt as if he was fueled by some strange happy confidence that helped him do whatever he wanted.
    “What is it in your cup?” he asked after he settled in her booth.
    “Cider with rum,” she said.
    Vadik asked the waiter to bring another cider with rum for him. He liked it very much.
    The girl’s name was Rachel. Vadik introduced himself and asked if she lived in the city. She said that she was from Michigan and that she had moved here a couple of months ago to go to graduate school. He said that he’d only arrived this morning.
    She smiled and said, “Welcome.”
    Days, weeks, months, even years later, whenever Vadik thought of their first conversation (and he thought of it a lot), he would marvel at how easy it had been. His English was pretty good—he had spoken a lot of English while he worked in London, and even in Istanbul—but his conversations were never that effortless. He would struggle to find the right word, he would confuse tenses and articles, he would pronounce the words wrong. But in that diner with Rachel, he talked as if he was inspired. Not once did she ask him to repeat something because she didn’t understand.
    The track changed to Cohen’s “I’m Your Man.” Vadik laughed. Cohen seemed to be following him throughout the entire day.
    “I love this song!” he said.
    “Really?” Rachel asked. She seemed to tense.
    “What?” Vadik said.
    “Oh, it’s nothing.”
    “No,” Vadik insisted, “please tell me.”
    “I actually hate this song,” Rachel said.
    “Hate this song? Why?” Vadik asked. “The guy is offering himself to a girl. He’s pouring his heart out.”
    Rachel tried to soften her words with an apologetic smile, but she couldn’t help but say what she had on her mind. “Oh, he’s pouring his heart out, is that right?” she said. “Look, this is typical precoital manipulation. He’s offering her the world, but that’s only until she gives herself to him. Do you understand?”
    “I understand what you mean, but I disagree. The guy is expressing what he feels at the moment. He might not feel the same way afterward, but that doesn’t mean he is not sincere in that precise moment.”
    Rachel shook her head with such force that her braids came undone and the fine wisps of light brown hair flew up and down. “Leonard Cohen is a misogynist.”
    “Myso…gynist?” Vadik asked. The word sounded vaguely familiar, but he wasn’t sure what it meant.
    “Antifeminist,” Rachel explained.
    “I don’t understand,” Vadik said. “Cohen? Antifeminist? Doesn’t he idolize women?”
    “Yes!” Rachel said. “That’s precisely my